Heart of the Matter
by Inks Inc
Summary: Kate has always maintained a hold over Neal that is near impossible to break. Their tale of torn and circumstantially unrequited love has caused Neal endless heartaches and Peter endless headaches. Sometimes, that headache turns into a full blown migraine for the long suffering Agent Burke. Neal's latest escapade is one of those times. WARNING: Spanking. Completed One-Shot.


"Do you think he's too warm? He looks flushed; do you think I should take that blanket off him? What if he gets a chill then though…you think you could adjust the thermostat?" Looking up over the top of his newspaper with a simultaneously incredulous and disapproving glare, Peter shook his head slowly as his wife continued to fuss. "Hon, that's the least of his worries. Trust me."

El scowled heavily in his direction as she pulled the blanket up higher on a supremely slumbering Neal, as he lay splayed out on the Burke's living room sofa. "You're so hard on him, you know that?" she hissed as she felt his forehead, "Would it kill you to give him a break every now and then? Really now, would it?"

Peter threw down his paper in indignation.

"Give him a break? Give him a _break_? El, are you kidding me? I broke him out of _prison,_ what more do you want? And he's given me a constant migraine ever since. If anyone needs a break, it's me." Picking up the paper with an exasperated ruffle, he diligently ignored his wife's reproving glare as she poured a fresh glass of water out for the visitor. He couldn't however ignore it when she sat on the footstool right in front of him.

"Surely you understand his reasoning? Tell me you at least understand that?"

Peter sighed as she pulled the newspaper from his grasp, necessitating his full concentration. "Yes, I do understand his reasoning El," he admitted, "But not his execution. If he had come to me, I could have ensured we handled things the right way, and achieved the same dismal result. His way, lands me in hot water covering for him yet again, and got me a serious chewing out from Hughes. I can do without it; let me put it that way."

His wife looked at him with a small knowing smile.

"But can you do without him?"

Peter tossed his head in exasperation.

"Yes. Yes I can."

She tilted her head right back at him, with her eyes twinkling.

"Really?"

Looking over at the slumbering form, with the usually pristine hair falling over the handsome face, Peter sighed in hopeless defeat. "Maybe not," he admitted grudgingly, "My case rate would go down the tubes." At the insistence of El's knowing and prompting grin, he shrugged his shoulders awkwardly. "Alright, fine…I'd miss the headache too, you happy now?"

Her grin grew wider.

"Uh huh."

Standing up and landing a kiss on her exasperated husband's forehead, she glanced at the clock. "I have to go, and all I can do is pray it's not an overnight deal. If it is, you be nice to that boy Peter Burke, you hear me?" Grumbling under his breath, Peter shook his head as he stood to hug his wife tightly to him.

"I can't just let him away with it El, you understand that right?

Reluctantly, she shook her head in the affirmative.

"I know," she whispered as Neal turned in his sleep, "But…just hear him out, ok? Listen to him?" Repressing a tired sigh, Peter nodded as he bent down to pick up his wife's case for her business trip. "I spend most of my day, every day, listening to him El, I got it. Don't worry, he'll be fine…we'll be fine."

Seemingly reassured, he kissed her one last time as she got into the awaiting taxi and felt the familiar pang of sadness as she was driven away. Reaching down to pat the tail wagging Satchmo, he glanced down at the bemused dog. "Just you and me bud, huh?" he muttered, "Well…and Neal of course." Shaking his head as he turned to go back into the house, he added a wearied "What could go wrong."

Closing the door gently behind him, he saw what was happening a fraction too late. Satchmo liked to greet everyone all over again when he came in from anywhere for any period of time. Grabbing at the thin air that had a millisecond ago been where Satchmo's collar was located, Peter watched in dismay as the yellow lab leapt gleefully on a sleeping Neal.

Who was now a very much awake Neal.

Looking up into very brown eyes and a wandering tongue, the young informant was utterly bemused for a moment before it all came crashing back to him. Craning his head backwards, both to look around him and avoid an overly friendly dog kiss, he paled when he caught sight of Peter staring down at him.

"Morning."

Pulling Satchmo gently but deftly off his charge, Peter raised a brow.

"Morning indeed. How are you feeling?"

Sitting up, causing blankets to pool around his knees, Neal pondered the question for a moment. His head didn't hurt…all in all, he felt good. Tired, but otherwise pretty darn good. "Fine," he answered truthfully, "I'm fine." Examining the kid with an x-ray gaze, Peter was immediately satisfied he was telling him the truth.

"Good," he said in relief, "You want something to eat? El left pancakes I think."

Swinging his legs off the sofa, Neal shook his head as he automatically folded the blankets. "No, I'm good," he muttered quietly. His brow furrowed as he looked over at Peter, who was quietly settling himself down in the armchair opposite him. He swallowed hard. "How mad are you?"

Peter raised a brow and contemplated briefly.

"Mad enough that you should cherish all that sitting you're doing right now."

Neal swallowed a yelp come groan.

"And uhh…where is El, exactly?"

Peter, mad as he was, had to stifle a smile. "Gone," he answered with a shortness he found difficult to produce, "It's just me and you buddy." The prolific con man in Neal was the only way in which he could force a smile to his face. "Great," he replied weakly, "That's great…"

Peter snorted.

"Yeah, I believe you on that one kid."

Breathing in deeply, Neal adopted his widest, most innocent eyes. "Peter, look…I can explain. I know this looks bad, well…it is bad. But it's not as bad as it looks, I swear. It's just…well I know you said I shouldn't, well couldn't. I know you said I couldn't, but the opportunity just presented itself Peter, and what was I to do? You know? I couldn't just let it slide, I couldn't just-"

"Do as you were told?" the elder man interjected mildly, as he folded his arms across his chest, "Yes…I've noticed that penchant about you. I've tried and tried to cure you of it, but it doesn't seem to be working. Why do you think that is, Neal? Do you think I should perhaps adopt a sterner line with you? I think that sounds like a good idea. I think I'm too soft with you, and that's why you did what you did. What do you make of that?"

Before Neal, who was growing more and more horrified could answer, he pressed on.

"You see, I've never pulled that kind of stunt in my career. Because I know my boss would have my ass. Perhaps that's what you're lacking, hmm? Speaking of which, I spent a large portion of yesterday getting reamed by Hughes for my apparent and complete lack of control over my department. You wouldn't have known that, you were asleep. Don't worry, I covered for you, like I always do. But do you remember that weekend away I was telling you about, for El and I? That weekend is now going to be spent, by both of us I might add, taking a trip to the archive room and putting together a cold case presentation of " _how to's_ ," for the new academy recruits."

He paused to glower heavily at his ashen looking charge.

"Doesn't that sound wonderful, Neal? Aren't you thrilled?"

The younger man sure didn't look thrilled. Instead, and on the contrary, he looked like hell and gulped guiltily with a noisy rasp.

"Peter, I'm-"

"You're sorry," the elder agent interjected crossly, "Yeah, I know. You always are."

The wounded look that crossed Neal's face at his stern remarks suddenly cut through Peter's anger. Sighing, he rubbed a hand across his face and tried to remember his wife's ministrations. "Alright kid," he muttered, "I'm going to make us some coffee and you some toast, you can use the time to think about what you want to say to me and to get yourself freshened up. Off you go."

With the retreating back disappearing into the kitchen, Neal sighed and arose on autopilot.

He was in deep, and he knew it.

Peter rarely scolded him with such anger in his tone, and he knew the coffee and toast run was a more a ruse for the elder man to control his anger. Slouching miserably up the stairs and into the guest room he had long since commandeered as his own, he quickly threw himself under the shower and five minutes later was dressed in a soft pair of sweats and an oversized black polo shirt. Rubbing a hand through his damp tousled hair, he gave up trying to make it behave, before plodding back downstairs.

The shower had woken him up and brought back his actions in startling clarity.

He suddenly wished he was still and blissfully asleep. He hadn't meant for it to happen, then again, he never did. But Kate had a hold over him that he didn't think he could ever break, and when one threw Matthew Keller into the equation, whatever hold he had on his reactions went rapidly downhill. Remembering how he had lured Keller into a trap, only to have the trap turned on him as only Matthew could orchestrate caused Neal's heart to sink in his chest. He had been alone in that alley and woefully out of his radius.

He'd just never had Matthew down as the knife type.

It was too close. Too personal for someone like him.

He had misjudged him. And he had escaped, yet again.

And if it weren't for Peter, and his uncanny ability to find him, a bruised forehead would have been the very least of his worries. Of course the information he had been promised in return for the amber artefact he had recklessly stolen from the evidence locker was bogus. He had suspected it, obviously, but as always…the slim chance of reuniting with Kate had taken over. He had obsessed and he had rationalised. And now, here he was. Without Kate, without evidence as to her whereabouts and with one seriously and rightfully pissed off Peter Burke.

He whistled lowly through his teeth.

For all his brilliance he could truly be an utter idiot at times.

Padding miserably back into the living room, he threw himself back down opposite Peter and instinctively picked up the coffee on the table before him. "How's your head?" the agent asked anxiously. Somehow, the bruise looked worse in its just showered state. Sipping the coffee gratefully, Neal shook his head at the obvious worry.

"Its fine, Peter," he assured quietly, "Honestly, its fine."

He sipped another scalding but satisfying glug of coffee.

"How much trouble am I in?"

Peter pondered for a moment. He knew, in his gut, the lecture was not necessary. Nor was forcing Neal to account what he had done wrong. He knew the kind of pull Kate held over the kid, and rightly or wrongly, he didn't trust the girl and he disliked her deeply for what he considered her manipulation of Neal's affection for her. So he didn't need to bring all that up, and hurt Neal by forcing him to talk about what had happened, and how he had been the one to be conned.

There was one thing however, he needed absolute clarity on.

"You're aware that if I hadn't sniffed out your plan, you'd quite likely be dead or in jail right now?"

Neal didn't hesitate in nodding, which stirred a small sense of pride in the agent.

"So…how much trouble do you think you're in?"

The younger man looked into his coffee, before looking the elder one squarely in the eye.

"I think a lot. Definitely a lot."

Setting down his own coffee mug, Peter stood and instinctively sat himself down beside Neal on the three seater. He was still hopping mad, but he could never stay icily mad at the kid for long. Throwing an arm around his shoulders, he drew him into a one armed hug and sighed into the damp, scented hair. "You're right son, but…we'll get through it. We always do huh?"

Breaking the embrace, Neal looked up at Peter and squirmed with guilt.

"I shouldn't make you have to get through it all the time."

Chuckling somewhat and despite himself, Peter shrugged. "Then you wouldn't be you, now would you?" The crooked little smile he got in return punched another hole through his anger. He was still fuming, but in a very controlled way. And El was right…he understood the compulsion. Neal was madly and potentially irrevocably in love with Kate, and he would just have to ride that out until whatever was meant to be with the pair transpired. He couldn't deny the fact however, that when he envisaged Neal's future, it was a happy one.

But it was one without Kate.

"I'm not going to chew you out here Neal," Peter sighed, "I know that the whole Kate thing is something you find hard to control, and to a degree, I understand that. I also know that you know exactly why you're here, and all the reasons I'm fuming with you. But you're not going to put your life and your deal on the line on my watch, and get away with it. If we hadn't for that damned figure back into evidence, there would be no way you'd be waking up in this house and not a cell. You see that, don't you?"

Neal nodded mutely, grateful he wasn't going to be forced to dissect the ins and outs of his reasoning.

He had a sudden suspicion that El had something to do with that.

"You want to go back to sleep for a while, or do you want to get this taken care of now? It's Saturday, so if you want to get it taken care of now…we could do something later on in the day?"

Neal stared.

"I'm not gr…err, on house arrest?"

Peter smiled slightly.

"You bet your ass you're on house arrest. Until I say otherwise, and I won't be saying otherwise for a long time. But…given that it's just us here, and given that it's been a rough few days on you with the whole Kate thing, I'm willing to provide supervised parole for a few hours to a destination of your choice."

Neal's eyes instantly brightened.

"The bespoke art exhibit downtown?"

Peter immediately cursed his asinine offer but managed to nod weakly.

"Sure…I guess."

The beaming smile that had been absent for so many days as Neal had fixated on his latest Kate plan, and as Peter had fixated on his fixations was worth it.

But he quickly sobered.

"Alright Neal, that's the plan for later. But the plan for right now is for you to march yourself into that kitchen and get the wooden spoon, and then march yourself right back here." Silence swam around the pair for a moment, as the younger man suddenly stiffened in misery. If there was one thing he hated, and with good reason, it was that horrifically thick and unyielding wooden spoon. Twisting in his seat for a moment, he couldn't help but look at Peter with imploring eyes.

It was like looking at a very repentant cocker spaniel.

"Don't you dare give me those eyes Neal," Peter scolded as firmly as he could manage, "You're lucky you're not on the receiving end of a licking from my belt for this. So if I were you, I'd go get that spoon before I change my mind and decide maybe you _do_ need that kind of additional lesson." Swallowing hard, Neal remembered with an unfortunate vividness his last encounter with Peter's belt, and slowly got to his feet with a miserable nod that tugged Peter's heartstrings.

A moment of rustling later and the young man walked hesitantly back into the room with the large and heavy spoon clutched in two fingers, and being eyed with a look of distaste. Handing it off as requested, he stood in front of Peter with a sad expression that was wildly hard to ignore.

"Have you ever even used that horrific instrument for cooking in this house?"

Peter suppressed a smile.

"Not since the day you set foot in this house, no."

Ignoring Neal's accusing glower, Peter sighed and scooted further back on the sofa. Tapping his leg, he looked up at the now shuffling kid as sternly as he could. "You know the drill son, don't make me put you over." Barely managing to communicate this message to his legs, Neal nodded jerkily and with an ease born of way too much experience, found himself laying over Peter's knee. The familiar hand didn't immediately wrapped firmly across his waist as usual however.

Feeling his sweats and boxers suddenly being tugged down to his knees, Neal squawked indignantly.

"Don't you dare give me any of that," Peter scolded immediately, fastening his hand around the young man's waist. "You don't deserve any kind of warm up. Your pants didn't break the rules, you did. Are we clear?"

Realising the precarious nature of his situation, Neal answered in the only acceptable manner.

"We're clear."

Sighing, Peter nodded sadly and steeled himself. Tugging his ward closer to him, he glanced at the wooden spoon lying next to him and felt his gut churn. Resolving to get the whole thing over and done with as soon as possible, he raised his hand and brought it down smartly before he could think too much about it. As always, the first swat took them both by surprise. Neal let out his usual surprised hiss and Peter swallowed his usual groan of misery.

A moment later and the room was ringing with the sounds of broad hand to bare ass. Peter was controlled, but he let his displeasure at the whole situation shine through in a manner that couldn't be misinterpreted. The behind under his hand pinked up with an immediacy, and the elder man worked diligently to turn dusty pink to bright red. Neal for his part was maintaining his usual and interim stoic front, but Peter knew he was hurting.

And he hated that he knew he was hurting.

"Don't you ever do something like this again Neal," Peter intoned quietly, breaking his usual rule against scolding whilst spanking, "You think you have a lead on Kate, then you come to me. I will help you. You go behind my back, and you will wind up in this position every single time. Is that clear to you?"

Neal, who was struggling to stay silent and stay in place, managed to nod jerkily and Peter accepted it. Sighing, the agent nodded once more and reluctantly reached out and picked up the thick wooden spoon beside him. Tapping it lightly against Neal's now red backside, he sucked in a breath. "I know you hate this, but try and hold still as best you can, and let's get this finished son."

Flinching at the cold wood on his now very stinging backside, Neal again nodded miserably.

Peter didn't waste any time in snapping the well worn spoon down on the backside upended over his knee, nor did he waste any time in settling into a brisk and punishing tempo. The remarkable decrease in stoicism that immediately followed was expected and the agent failed to close his ears or his heart to the yelping the spoon immediately elicited.

As the squirming also increased, Peter tightened his hold on his charge's waist and focussed the spoons strength on the tender sit spots that would remind Neal of his punishment every time he sat down for the night. He didn't need to see the kid's face to know there were tears pooling in his eyes. They were nearly done, and for that he was incredibly grateful. Tipping his knee upwards and therefore Neal forewords, he deliberated briefly before throwing the spoon down. Reapplying his hand, he reddened the crimson sit spots further with a more personal touch he knew Neal would remember.

With one particularly firm swat on the now flaming red behind, the dam broke.

Neal began to cry quietly over his knee.

Peter knew enough of the kid to know the nuances. He tended to sob loudly when the matter he was being punished for wasn't quite so personal and more down to his penchant for simple disobedience. He tended to weep quietly when the matter was as personal as it gets and more than just insubordination. Either way, Peter knew when enough was enough.

He immediately landed the last swat and quickly righted the kids clothing.

For some reason, he didn't place the gentle hand on the small of Neal's back. For some reason, and maybe that reason was the misery that was Kate, was still coursing in the boy's mind, he couldn't wait. Swinging Neal gently off his knee with a strength that belied his stature, he expertly handled the lad until he was sitting beside him on the sofa, before drawing him into a deep and tight hug. The sniffling that was occurring in the centre of his chest just about broke his heart, as he ran a loose hand through the tousled mop of damp hair.

These were the rare cases that Neal completely let his guard down.

And he didn't care to cultivate his careful image.

How long they sat like that, Peter didn't know. However after a while, Neal sniffed his last sniff and squirmed out of the embrace. Immediately letting him go, the elder man quickly stuffed the spoon down the side of the sofa so he wouldn't have to look at it again. He sat silently as the kid swiped a hand across red eyes, before finally locking blue eyes with brown.

"M'sorry…I'm really, really sorry."

Peter felt whatever anger remained within him melt away. He squeezed Neal's shoulder gently.

"I know buddy, I know. It's done now, it's over. Ok?"

For a moment, Neal looked at him steadily in the eye and Peter knew he was determining if that were true or not. For all they'd been through in their partnership, it still broke his heart that the kid's dealing with people up until now necessitated such additional assurance.

But, assured, he apparently seemed to be.

He smiled his rare, non showman smile, and nodded peaceably.

"Ok."

Peter matched the smile and ruffled his hair, earning himself a scowl as the kid reached up to groom it back into his meticulous state. Rolling his eyes at the vanity, the agent stood and scratched his head as he remembered a part of their earlier conversation.

"You still want to go to this err…thing?"

Neal grinned a shadow of his former devilish grin.

"Oh absolutely."

Peter shot him an uncharacteristically pleading look.

"You sure you wouldn't prefer to…oh I don't know, catch a game instead?"

The shadow of the former grin was much stronger this time as Neal shook his head in the negative.

"You sure you wouldn't prefer to…oh I don't know, tell El you did this for me?"

Peter managed an indignant glower, before pointing up at the staircase with a feigned sigh, betrayed by the fond twinkle in his eye.

"Go on and get changed then. Nicely played by the way, brat."

…

A/N: One-Shot for old times' sake! Thoughts?

…


End file.
